


Swan Song

by NeonHearts (WoWirAndersSind)



Category: Big Time Rush (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Genderbending, Greek mythology references galore, M/M, dont ask, swan lake AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoWirAndersSind/pseuds/NeonHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You shed your life like unwanted skin, swanfeathers swept underneath the bed - hidden from his sight and the wooden arch of his crossbow. </p><p>You're wearing Persephone's crown. And it's your wedding night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swan Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/gifts).



> uhm  
> don't ask. just, eh, yeah. it's really weird. 
> 
> It's for skyline. It always is, kinda. 
> 
> not meant to sound creepy, their works are just a joy to read and such an inspiration.
> 
> This is based on a weird dream I had in which they were ballet dancers, in a rendition of Swan Lake, Kendall being cast as the swan queen, James as Siegfried.   
> And at the end it got weird and ah youll see

You like his name. You like how it rolls of your tongue in two takes - sieg-fried. You like the hidden innuendo concealed by the German language, victory and peace. It's not what you strive for. His kingdom and his crown, you want to rip it off him, let it flake to the ground. Strip him bare off his titles and royalty, until you can feel his heart beneath your fingertips, beating it until it matches yours.   
  
His strong hands are fumbling with the wood of his bow, and you recognise mahagoni and oak, but you know he won't aim.   
Your feet are floating over the ground, tips barely touching, sliding, and you are afraid. You shield yourself with white feathers, carry them like armor, and you are wearing Persephone's crown but refuse to marry Hades.   
His steps are resolute, his fists clenched, and you know he does not understand.   
You stand in front of him, outlines shaking, wings vibrating with fear and foreboding.   
And he takes your hand, claims it with the closing of his hand around your slender wrist, and you marvel at the way his skin tone matches yours. Marble and snow.   
  
His kiss is soft, it's resolute, and it's a promise of safety. He will save you.   
He's your dream-fairytale-perfect prince charming.   
He promised you.   
_He promised you._

* * *

Poor Odette dies on stage in her shaking, vulnerable body. Odile walks into the wings wearing Kendall's skin, claims the space between the two joints that hold her wings to his body, aglitter in marble and the thunderous applause of the opening night. It's James she's looking for and, as he shakes him with pride and shines that triumphant smile, Kendall lays her hands on his chest and pushes him back.  
"You were amazing," he says, and Kendall grins. The outlines of his teeth feel shredded, fangs reserved for the skin of his neck.   
Kendall loves him, don't make any mistakes there, but James' hers, hers, hers.   
  
He is his swan queen. But he doesn't have to voice her claim; he traces James' angular, razor cheekbone with his thumb, humors him with a smile. "My sweet prince," he says, links his bony fingers with his and stakes her claim again with his lips on his. 

* * *

 Rothbarts hand is strong around your arm, and it's clenching down, fingertips digging into your skin. Your feathers are black, and there's fury, there's rage, coiling beneath your stomach like a living, beating organ, a livid animal. You're sure, if they'd slit you open, you would bleed black.   
And his eyes are burning as his gaze lingers on you, your feathers shimmering, as he stretches out his arm to greet you with the palm of his hand.   
You take it, greedily, and he guides you. 

He is a fool and you love _hate_ him. This knife-white tool of a dancer with caressing fingertips and there's a splash of jealousy scattered along your jawline like feathers on the floor and freckles on your collarbones and _he's such a fool._

And you grow teeth, you grow lips, you have fingertips and fingernails that dig into his shoulder, and feathers are scattered around the floor as they swirl towards the ground, dying leaves.   
"You are amazing," he exclaims, and it sounds like music. A deep syrupy baritone, that reverberates with joy and pride - and you get caught up.   
In the ink black of his eyes that matches your feathers and hair, the way his fingers intertwine with yours, and how he lifts you up.  
And you know it doesn't take more than the bending of a knee.   
As he goes down, and holds your hand with endless adoration, you lean back and bathe.   
You have no time for the aftermath. 

* * *

He doesn't go home tonight, just hauls a taxi and pushes James inside. They're not over each other, no kissing in the dark and the wash-down of streetlights and rainy halos. 

Kendall just presses his finger to his pulse point once, to feel his heart; beating boldly.   
And all that matters is this:  you marry into royalty, fuck Olympus and the whole damn pantheon, and escape towards the underworld, shedding your life like unwanted snakeskin; swanfeathers swept clean and buried underneath the bed, hidden from his sight and the wooden arch of his crossbow. You're wearing Persephone's crown. And it's your wedding night.   
His soul is lone and a thread dangling and hers is neon and golden and she will force the red into his cheeks when he whispers  _yes james_ and  _i love you, James:  
_

Yes, Kendall loves him, but he's hers, hers, hers. 

(Kendall is a diversion. He's useful.   
He can wrap the universe around his fingers like trained seamstresses spinning gold with the arch of his foot and the shifting of muscles in his back. But he has never been as alluring, as captivating as when he was her. When she was him. Is.)

There are fingers outlining the protrusions of his vertebrae, lingering over the joints where her wings used to be. Still are. Doesn't matter now. 

He uses girls up, he knows. He understands. They're little, screaming birds with their mouths wide open; once upon a time she wrung her use out of a shrieking one too, once upon a time she snapped its slender neck. But no, he'd never had the chance, _no_ , he'd never had the chance to meet  _her_  before.

She kisses him with fever and an urgency he has never known before. She pushes him down with resolution and lust, and as he claims her, she knows this is her prize. Well, not this, this is just unwrapping the silky pink ribbon.   
The prize is the rest of their lives.   
  
Afterwards James falls asleep, with his arms around her. Him.   
His blonde hair is tucked carefully off to one side so he doesn't get himself tangled in it. That would annoy her.  
But he's asleep, his breathing even.  And she waits up watching him with her red eyes scanning the dark.


End file.
